


Tick Tock Goes the Clock

by thetimegoddessof221b



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, M/M, Male Friendship, Mystery, Romance, Science Fiction, Suspense, Wholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimegoddessof221b/pseuds/thetimegoddessof221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another normal week for Sherlock and John until Detective Inspector Lestrade shows up with a confusing case of over 10 missing people. Sherlock and John soon find that everything is not as it seems and they end up getting thrown into an entirely different world, literally. Sherlock x John. Rated T for language and violence in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"John can you pass me my magnifier?" Sherlock muttered as he stooped down next to the body. John shuffled over to the table and picked up the detective's miniature magnifying glass and passed it over to him.

"Thank you," He heard Sherlock whisper and he snatched the instrument away from him. John stood in shock momentarily, Sherlock had just _thanked_ him. Shaking he head he walked over to the dead body and knelt next to it. He chanced a glance at Sherlock, his eyes were darting around the body, observing every scrap of information visible to the human eye and there was a look of deep concentration etched onto his beautifully angular face- _no stop it._

"What?" Sherlock asked, stopping his investigation to stare questioningly at him.

"Oh," John said in embarrassment as he realized he had spoken out loud. "Nothing, just a mental note."

Sherlock continued to stare and John felt the heat rush to his face. He hated that stare, he felt like Sherlock could see right through him and deduce his every thought.

After a few tense seconds Sherlock finally broke eye contact and returned his focus to the unfortunate victim lying on the floor in front of them.

"I think the cause of death here is far from a mystery," John said, motioning to the gaping gash that stretched completely across the dead man's neck. "What we need to know is what, and more specifically who, made the cut."

Sherlock nodded and leaned in closer to the stiff's neck, his nose hardly a hairs width away from the wound, and peered through his magnifying glass. John heard him chuckle softly and saw him smile.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled and the sound of rushed footsteps could be heard pounding down the hallway towards them.

"What? Did you find something?" The detective inspector asked as he stepped into the room.

"You have his card and have checked it already I assume," Sherlock said, ignoring Lestrade's question.

"Yes of course, why?"

"What was the last transaction on the card?"

"Um well," Lestrade fumbled with his phone and pulled up an email on it. "It says the last thing he used his card for was the barbers."

Sherlock's face lit up and he stood. "When? When did he pay for it?"

"November 12th. Hold on, that was yesterday, that was the day he died."

"Precisely," Sherlock said triumphantly and he ripped off his latex gloves. "And if I'm correct his barber's name is Joseph, right?"

Lestrade stood stunned and he stared at the information on his phone, "Yes, yes that is his name. But how-"

"It was his barber, Lestrade." Sherlock interrupted. "The cut on his neck is jagged and uneven, no knife would slice like that, so if it wasn't a knife what was it? Glass? No, even glass would give a cleaner cut than this. The blade was thin, very thin, but the way the attacker sliced caused the wound to be wider than the width of the blade. Also the attacker's hands were shaking so he was not acclimatized to violence, hence the jagged cut and unevenness. So we aren't dealing with a professional killer but rather a normal person. I also found faint traces of shaving cream inside the wound and upon smelling it I could detect a faint scent that smelled slightly of ginger and lilac. I know of only one barber in London who uses such fine blades and this type of shaving cream, his name is Joseph Cunner and he runs the small barber shop down the road called Cunning Cuts. Now if I were you inspector I would send a team down straight away as his shop closes in fifteen minutes."

And with that Sherlock walked out the door, coat billowing behind him.

John and Lestrade stood momentarily in shock. John was the first to recover, "Thank you Greg. Call us if you need anything else." He said lightly as he walked past him and out the door.

Sherlock was waiting for him outside. "What the hell was all that about?" John asked as he called a taxi over.

"What was what?"

"You know what. Why were in such a rush to leave all of a sudden?"

The cab pulled up to the curb and the two men climbed inside. Only once the cab started moving did Sherlock answer his question.

"That case was a waste of time. Even a five-year old could have solved that! I haven't had a challenging case in weeks! If something doesn't turn up soon..." He let the sentence trail off, both of them knowing how it was going to end.

"I'm sure something will turn up." John said assuringly. Sherlock sighed and reached across the aisle to grip John's hand. John blushed and he shifted his weight slightly in unease. They had been dating for two weeks now but he was still having a hard time adjusting to this new relationship.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked worryingly. He had never heard him sound worried before the fall but now Sherlock almost seemed like a different person around him. He would show emotions (but only when he was alone or with John) and would sometimes even confide in him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." John said, "I'm just a little tired is all."

Sherlock nodded and grinned, "Me too."

John looked up at him with surprise, "Really? You're actually tired? Someone call the press, the great Sherlock Holmes is tired!" He teased.

Sherlock let out a deep baritone chuckle and John joined in. He laced his fingers through Sherlock's, all nervousness forgotten, and gave his hand a slight squeeze.

A few hours later John was fast asleep in his bed, wrapped in Sherlock's comforting embrace. They both slept deeply, not knowing that tomorrow would change their lives forever.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sherlock!"

John and Sherlock bolted awake to the yell of Greg Lestrade and the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs. Sherlock flew out of bed, snatched his robe, and was out of the bedroom in less than five seconds flat. John, on the other hand, was not so enthusiastic. Reluctantly, he yawned and slipped out of bed. Grabbing his robe he walked out into the living room, rubbing his eyes, to find Greg already seated on the couch and Sherlock frantically pacing in front of the window.

"Nothing? There was absolutely nothing? Are you sure?" Sherlock asked Greg as he continued to pace.

"Yes I'm sure, we checked everything."

"Even with the black light? We found a message like that before, remember."

"Yes, Sherlock, we even checked with the black light. I'm telling you they left _nothing_ behind!"

"Good, excellent," Sherlock muttered under his breath and he steepled his fingers against his chin.

"I'm sorry," John said as he walked into the room, "but _who_ left nothing?"

Just as Greg opened his mouth to answer his phone beeped. "Sorry I've got to take this," he said as he pressed the phone to his ear and walked out the door.

So John turned to Sherlock for answers, "What's going on?"

"Disappearances," Sherlock said vaguely and he continued to pace, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"How many?" John pressed.

"They're not sure of exact numbers yet, but so far they have counted at least ten."

"Ten!" John exclaimed, "Jesus, were they all at once?"

"Yes, pretty much. They were all within hours of each other." Greg answered him as he returned to the living room. "And as far as we can tell there is no direct link between all the missing persons whatsoever. Also, as you heard me tell Sherlock, there was no sign of any kind struggle or any disturbances. There was no evidence of anything. Not a thing. No footprints, no fingerprints, not even any disturbance in the dust."

"Wonderful," Sherlock whispered under his breath and John saw Greg shoot him a look.

"So, will you help?" Greg asked the pacing detective.

"Yes of course," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Text me the address of the first crime scene, we will be there momentarily."

Greg bobbed his head in thanks and left, closing the door behind him.

The moment Greg was out of earshot Sherlock stopped pacing and let out an excited yell. He rushed down the hallway and into his bedroom to get dressed. John sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, it was going to be a long day he could tell.

* * *

Once both of them were properly attired John hailed a cab as Sherlock pulled up the address on his phone. John could tell Sherlock couldn't wait to get to the crime scene; he was practically bouncing in his seat in excitement and was anxiously tapping his fingers on his thigh. And in less than ten minutes the cab rolled to a stop outside a cheery looking flat and the two men climbed out to investigate.

John's first impression of the flat was its overwhelming sense of normality. Nothing struck him as unusual or out of place; this flat was the textbook definition of plain. Apparently Sherlock did not agree, he was inspecting and examining every inch of the exterior with great interest.

"Fascinating," He heard Sherlock mumble as he inspected the walkway up to the door.

"What? Did you find something?" John asked, leaning down next to him and searching for the place of interest.

"No, I found nothing. Absolutely _nothing_." Sherlock said as he moved to a new location.

"Nothing, that's what you're excited about?"

"Yes!"

"...Why?"

Sherlock stopped his examination and turned to face John, "Because this is new. Not once have I studied a crime scene like this and not found a single clue right away. It's incredibly intriguing."

"Right," John replied hesitantly. _I think the lack of interesting cases has finally gone to his head._

After thoroughly inspecting every inch of the outside of the flat Sherlock walked over to the front door, pushed it open, and walked confidently inside. After a moment of hesitation John followed, something about this flat was putting him on edge.

Sherlock and John searched the flat for any sign of a clue as to where the missing person was and who took them, but to no avail. Only after several hours of observation and many long interviews with the family of the victim did Sherlock finally agree to leave.

"So, what did you find?" John asked after they were both seated in the cab and on their way to the next missing person's home.

"Nothing," Sherlock said irritably. His initial excitement for the difficulty of the case had quickly deteriorated and had left him sulky and cranky. "It just doesn't make sense!"

* * *

They arrived at the next flat and repeated the same procedure, with little success. Neither of them could detect any kind of clue as to where the victims were or who took them. In fact, even after visiting eight other homes, they didn't have a single scrap of data that was useful.

When they finally did return home to 221B Sherlock immediately sat down on his chair and whipped out John's laptop.

"Come on Sherlock, give it a rest." John yawned, "We've been working on that case all day, and it's nearly one in the morning. Please just come to bed."

"No, John, I have to find something."

"Look Sherlock-"

"I _have_ to, John! Don't you understand?" Sherlock yelled and he slammed his hand down on the arm if the chair. John jumped back in surprise. "This isn't supposed to happen to me. I am Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective that can solve _any_ case. I don't just find _nothing_. I've never found _nothing_. There's always a connection and there's always clues, you just have to observant enough to see them! Now leave me alone, I need to think."

He pulled his knees up against his chest and closed his eyes. John knew him well enough to know when he was entering his "mind palace" and he retreated to his room. He got undressed and slipped under the covers.

Just as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard the door open and the soft patter of bare feet on the floor. Quickly, John closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, pretending to be asleep, he wasn't really in the mood to talk. The footsteps stopped next to him and he felt long, slim fingers brush his bare shoulders as the covers were pulled up to his neck.

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock whispered and John heard the footsteps retreat back to the hallway. He smiled to himself and drifted off into a peaceful slumber, only to be reawakened a few short hours later by a triumphant shout from Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

"I've got it John! I've got something!"

John groaned and glanced at the clock as he rolled out of bed. It read 5:30 am. Groggily John wandered into the living room where Sherlock was pacing back and forth in front of the computer.

"What is it? What did you find?" John asked with interest.

"We didn't find anything because we were looking in the wrong place, John!" Sherlock rambled off, "We were looking for how the _people_ were connected when what we should have been looking for was if the _flats_ were connected. Maybe with the same wallpaper or the same item of furniture."

"But I didn't notice anything like that," John responded. "All of the flats were pretty distinctly different."

"Yes I know, I thought the same thing. So I went through the pictures I had taken on my phone of some interesting places in the flats. It took me a while but soon I found this," Sherlock turned the laptop around to face John and on the screen was a blurred picture of a stone statue in the shape of an angel with its hands covering its face.

"So what?" John asked, "It's a statue, I've seen ones like that all over the place."

"All of them, all of the families of the missing people, have a statue similar to this one somewhere in their house. I don't know what it means, it could be nothing, but it's all I've got." Sherlock ran a hand through his black curly hair in frustration. John suppressed a smile; he loved it when he did that.

"It's not much," John sighed and he sat down in his chair across from Sherlock's.

"I know," Sherlock shrugged as he sat back down in his chair and pulled the laptop onto his lap. "But it's worth a look don't you think?"

* * *

Later that day, Sherlock got permission from Lestrade to go back to the flats and take another look at them. They pulled up to the first one they visited only to find the road blocked off and police cars surrounding it. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John in surprise and they made their way over to the crime scene.

"What's going on?" John asked the first officer he could find, which just happened to be Sally Donavan.

"We've got another one. The poor missing girl's mum is gone now too." Sally replied with a smirk. "Same conditions, nothing was disturbed. It seems we finally have a case on our hands that even the great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson can't solve."

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure of that Sally," Sherlock muttered as he passed under the tape and walked towards the flat. Sally rolled her eyes and walked off to talk to another officer and John jogged over to catch up with Sherlock.

"I need to take another look at that statue," Sherlock mumbled as they passed through the door and into the flat. As usual, Sherlock's memory was impeccable and they managed to locate the room with no problem. The room was surprisingly barren with only a few select pieces of furniture to decorate the interior. One of these pieces was the waist-high stone statue of a weeping angel. John felt the same sense of unease that he had before as Sherlock slowly approached the statue.

"Sherlock," John said nervously and he gripped his arm, forcing the detective to turn around and face him.

"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Just, be careful. There's something about that statue that makes me uneasy." John responded tensely.

Sherlock's demeanor softened and he nodded. If there was one thing he never did it was ignore the instincts of a soldier. John released his arm and they both fixed their eyes back on the statue.

Or at least where the statue _had_ been. Now there was just empty space where the stone carving had stood only moments before.

"What?!" Sherlock exclaimed and he rushed over to the area of interest.

"But- but how could it be gone?" John stammered. "It was right there only a second ago! Nothing could have moved it that fast!"

"Precisely!" Sherlock retorted and he began to examine the corner it had stood in intently. "So it couldn't have been there in the first place! A neat little trick but there must be mirrors or a projector around here..."

As Sherlock continued to look for the source of the illusion John examined the rest of the room. He scanned the walls as he turned in a circle; they were bare except for a window on the far right wall. With a sigh he turned to face the doorway and let out a startled yell as he scrambled for his gun. Standing in the doorway was the statue, its hands had moved away from its face and it was staring at John with an angry snarl.

Sherlock spun around at John's yell and John saw an expression he had rarely witnessed on the cunning detective's face, pure shock.

"Oh that's amazing," Sherlock said in awe as he stepped closer to the angel.

"No Sherlock don't-" John warned, he still held his gun up and pointed at the statue although he didn't know what good it would do.

"Relax John, it's just a trick of the light." Sherlock comforted him and he reached out his hand to touch it.

"No don't!" John shouted as he ran over to Sherlock and pushed him out of the way, he felt something cold and smooth rub up against his arm and then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

"John!"

Sherlock stumbled and watched in shock as the air around John seemed to ripple, there was a soft popping sound and then… nothing. John was gone. He had simply disappeared right in front of Sherlock's eyes.

The statue had moved, its arm was outstretched to the space where John had stood only moments before. Sherlock backed away from the angel, whatever it was it wasn't just a statue. _Ok ok, calm down_ , Sherlock thought, _no need to jump to conclusions. Of course it is a statue, it's just a trick of the light, it has to be._ He shook his head to clear it of the uneasy feeling that was beginning to creep into the outer fringes of his thoughts, and when he opened his eyes he saw, to his horror, the angel only inches away. He let out a startled yell and stumbled backwards.

"Who's doing this?" Sherlock yelled at the empty air. "It's very clever, I must admit, very convincing. But this has gone on long enough. Come on out John, I know you were in on it too."

There was no reply. Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on the angel as he reached down and picked up some of the dust that had accumulated on the barren floor and threw it at the statue. It dispersed as soon as it hit and some of it even settled on the shoulders of the angel. Well so much for the idea of it being a projection.

The angel was blocking the way to the only door in the room so it looked like running wasn't going to be an option. The only other available route at his disposal happened to be the window behind him that he was slowly backing up towards. He would rather not use that route if he could avoid it, as he was on the second floor.

"John?" He called out one more time in a last attempt to convince himself that this was all just a prank.

"Sherlock! Don't turn around! Keep staring at that statue!" Replied an unfamiliar voice from directly behind him. Sherlock was just about to ignore the speaker's advice and turn around to discover who the mysterious voice belonged to when he heard a much more familiar sound.

"Sherlock listen to him!" John yelled, "Just keep your eyes fixed on that angel and don't blink!"

"John is that you!?" Sherlock rejoiced as he continued to have a staring contest with a slab of carved stone.

"Yes it's me, Sherlock. Before you ask I'm alright, a little rattled, but alright. Just keep staring at that statue and back up towards the window."

"Why? It's just a statue John, carved stone. Why do I need to keep staring at it and why can't I blink? Also who's your friend?" Sherlock asked with suspicion as he continued to back towards the window, keeping his gaze on the angel the whole time.

"I'm the Doctor!" The strange voice answered, "And technically that's not a statue, well it is right now, but it won't be if you take your eyes off it, all will be explained in time, just keep coming this way!"

"You're not making any sense!" Sherlock chaffed.

"Just listen to him for now, Sherlock. You're almost here." Said John nervously.

Sherlock felt his back press up against the wall and he felt to his left for the opening of the window. "Where are you John? Are you on a ladder or something?"

"Um no, not exactly. It's a little hard to explain-"

"We're in the TARDIS!" The Doctor interrupted John in excitement. "It's short for Time And Relative Dimension In Space and it's my gorgeous space ship!"

"John your friend is completely mental!" Sherlock exclaimed as he continued to move along the wall to the left. His eyes were watering and stinging before he finally felt the cool lip of the windowsill. As soon as he had moved in front of it he felt two pairs of strong hands grasp the back of his coat and yank him backwards, out the window. He let out a terrified yell as his feet swung in empty air and he looked down to find the ground twenty feet away.

"Hold on Sherlock," John grunted, "we're trying to pull you up."

Sherlock swallowed hard, he had developed a small fear of heights ever since he had taken the plunge from the top of Bart's. He looked away from the ground and back up at the window where he had been minutes before and he saw the stone angel looking out at him. But he must have imagined it because he blinked and it was gone.

John and the Doctor let out a final groan as they finally managed to pull the lanky detective up into the TARDIS. Sherlock closed his eyes in relief and before he could open them and take a good look around John wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a warm embrace.

"It's good to see you again," John whispered in his ear.

Sherlock pulled back some and raised his eyebrow at John, "It's good to see you too. But I don't understand why it's such a monumental event. I saw you only a few seconds ago, right before you vanished."

John smiled sadly, "It was only a few seconds for _you_ , for me it was a little over six months."

Sherlock's eyes widened in disbelief, "But- but that's not possible. John you must be mistaken-"

"He's right, I just happened to come across John as I was taking a nice relaxing stroll down 18th century London." The Doctor interrupted him. Sherlock stood up, turned around, and let out an audible gasp.

"Welcome to the TARDIS!" Said the tall, handsome man with the blue bowtie and suspenders as he opened his arms wide and gestured to the massive console all around them.


	5. Chapter 5

John couldn't name a time he had seen Sherlock Holmes speechless before but there would be no other word to describe him now as he took a few steps forward with an open expression of awe on his face. His lips were parted slightly and his eyes were glazed as he scanned the entire room and grabbed at John for support. John rushed to his side and let Sherlock lean on him as they continued to approach the main console at the center of the room. The Doctor was leaning off to the side and watching them with amusement.

"It's a little overwhelming at first but you'll soon get used to it." The Doctor said cheerfully as he began pulling levers and pushing buttons. John guided Sherlock to a chair; the detective had still not uttered a word. The TARDIS engines grinded and not a second later it landed with a thump.

"Right-o," The Doctor quipped, "we're here!" He pulled the doors open with a bang and sauntered out.

Sherlock seemed to snap out of his trance and he blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Where?" Sherlock asked sharply as John helped him up and they made their way towards the door.

"Home sweet home!" The Doctor exclaimed, spreading his arms wide and spinning in a circle. "So this is what two-hundred and twenty-one B looks like, I had always imagined it slightly bigger."

As soon as John and Sherlock stepped out of the TARDIS the doors slammed shut behind them with a bang.

"Oh now, no need to be rude." The Doctor scolded, pointing a shaming finger at the blue box.

"Sorry, did you just scold a box?" John asked, slightly amused.

"It's not a box it's a TARDIS! My TARDIS!"

"Right," John said with a roll of his eyes.

As John and the Doctor had been chatting Sherlock had walked fully around the blue box, scrutinizing every inch of the old wood it was composed of.

"I think," Sherlock started as he completed his circle around the TARDIS, "that some explanations are in order, Doctor."

"Of course," the Doctor said with a grin as he plopped down on the couch. "I think I already know what your first question is but go ahead and ask me anyway, I like to hear people say it."

"What did you mean when you said you imagined this flat would be bigger?"

The Doctor looked slightly taken aback, "Well that's certainly not what I was expecting," he said, slightly disappointed. "I like it when people say its 'bigger on the inside'."

"You haven't answered my question, _Doctor_." Sherlock retorted, sarcasm and suspicion dripping from the last word.

"Ah no reason, no reason at all. Sometimes words just seem to slip out of my mouth without my permission." He replied with a smile.

"Now it has been wonderful, absolutely wonderful to meet you Sherlock Holmes," The Doctor said cheerfully as he stood up and crossed the room to shake Sherlock's hand. "And you John Watson. Honestly it's been my pleasure. But I really have to go, I've got some important business to attend to."

"But, Doctor, I still have so many-"

"Just one more thing." Sherlock interrupted John.

"John," Sherlock asked, turning towards him. "Did you ever tell your friend here my last name?"

John blinked at the random question and it took him a moment to answer. "Um, no. I don't believe I did."

Sherlock smiled and tightened his grip on the Doctor's hand. "How do you seem to know so much about us, Doctor? For example, where we live? I don't think John would have mentioned that, do you?"

John shook his head, confirming Sherlock's accusation.

"No, I thought not. How do you know my last name and what is in your pocket?"

The Doctor's face darkened and he pulled away from Sherlock. "What are you talking about?"

"What's in your right jacket pocket Doctor? Because every time I've asked you how you know so much about us your right hand drifts over that pocket and brushes past it. I can see a faint outline of some rectangular shape, can't be a slip of paper, it's too think for that, and the crease is smooth and unwrinkled. Nothing easily crumpled then, perhaps a small note pad or a book. But whatever it is, it's the source of your knowledge about us."

The Doctor smirked and clapped his hands once. "Wow, you are amazing. That was impressive, extremely impressive, but," he stepped closer to the detective, getting into his personal space, "Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, the man who can deduce anything and anyone, the human trying to make himself into a god. I can't tell you what it is and you can never know, I'm sorry."

Sherlock fixed his cold glare on the Doctor and tilted his chin up. "Tell me."

"I can't."

"Tell me!"

"I can't!"

"Sherlock, stop," John intercepted, trying to break it up.

"Stay out of this John," Sherlock said pushing him away, never looking away from his opponent.

"How are you possible Doctor? You look young but your eyes are old and tired. When I shook your hand I took your pulse and discovered that it was beating twice as fast yet you are not out of breath or exercising in any way. Your "machine" what do you call it, a TARDIS, has a larger volume on the interior than the exterior could possibly withhold and it seems to be able to move through walls. If it wasn't for the fact that I could never had dreamed up a scenario like this I would think I was asleep. Now," Sherlock pulled out his gun, "no one is going anywhere until you explain everything."

The Doctor smiled sadly and glanced down at the gun pointed at his stomach. "Guns, why does it always come to guns?"

"Sherlock," John said as soothingly as possible, he had never seen Sherlock get this intense before. "I think we can do this without any bloodshed."

"Humph," Sherlock grunted, "since when were you so opposed to violence?" But he did lower his weapon a little.

"Right, Doctor," John started. "What's your real name, let's start with that."

"The Doctor, just call me the Doctor."

"Yes but what's your _name_?"

"I can't say." He said with a shrug.

"You see John, how can we trust someone who won't even tell us his name?" Sherlock growled and he started to raise his gun again. John put his hand out and touched his shoulder, motioning for him to relax.

"Ok fine, Doctor. How is your box bigger on the inside?" John asked calmly.

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock blurted out before he had even taken a breath. "I suspect that it's dimensionally transcendental. Meaning the interior is in a slightly different dimension than the one we are currently in and the only "entrance" to this particular dimension is through that doorway." He pointed behind him at the doors to the police box.

Both John and the Doctor shot him a questioning glance and Sherlock shrugged. "What? Just because I don't believe it's possible doesn't mean that I am completely oblivious to the theories."

John smiled and the Doctor let out a small laugh. "You are absolutely correct, that's exactly how it's done."

"Really?" John asked.

"Well no, not exactly. But if it helps to think of it that way, then yes."

Sherlock scowled and John felt the corners of his mouth turn up against his will; it took all of his self-control not to burst out laughing at the expression on his companion's face.

"Alright, my turn to ask a question." Sherlock retorted with the snarl still on his face. "What do the names above your console mean?"

The Doctor's grin slid off his face and he stood up very straight with a look of immense confusion. "What names?"

"The names, etched above the console. Who were they? You obviously don't usually travel alone so who was Rose? Donna? Martha?" Sherlock listed some off.

"How could you read those?" The Doctor asked, furrowing his brow. "That shouldn't be possible."

"It shouldn't be possible that I can read plain English? Those names were written clear as day, what do you mean it 'shouldn't be possible'?"

"No those names, they weren't written in English."

"What are you talking about? Of course they were!" Sherlock exclaimed in surprise.

The Doctor shook his head, "no, they weren't. They are written in a long lost language, the language of the timelords. The TARDIS doesn't translate Gallifreyan so how could you read it?" He mumbled to himself.

"You're talking nonsense Doctor," Sherlock sighed and finally put away his gun, it didn't look like this bowtie wearing lunatic was going to present much of a problem.

"Right then!" The Doctor said enthusiastically as he jumped up. "Enough of this depressing talk! Remember that business I needed to attend to? Well, I think I would like both of your help."

"Us? For what?" John asked.

"Oh nothing I haven't done before. It's time to save the earth from impending doom again, that's all." He said with a wink as he dashed past the confused pair and into the TARDIS.


	6. Chapter 6

John turned to follow the Doctor into the TARDIS when Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist.

"John, I don't like this…" Sherlock whispered urgently.

"Look, Sherlock," John whispered back, "I think we can trust him. He did save my life."

Sherlock's fierce expression softened slightly and he slipped his hand into John's. "I know. What happened?"

"Are you two coming or should I search for a couple of new companions?" The Doctor yelled before John could utter a single syllable.

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I think he can explain it much better than I can. Come on, let's go."

John turned back toward the doors of the TARDIS when Sherlock grabbed his hand again. "John, one more thing" Sherlock licked his lips and shifted his weight in unease. "You didn't... drug me did you?"

John's let out an incredulous laugh and he pulled his hand out of Sherlock's. "Drug you? No, Sherlock, I didn't drug you. Because unlike some people I don't go around drugging my friends."

And with that he turned on his heel and pushed open the doors to the TARDIS.

"Well it was a perfectly logical explanation!" Sherlock exasperated, "All of this could be the work of a particularly strong hallucinogenic!"

John couldn't hold in a laugh as he disappeared behind the blue doors and an aggravated Sherlock followed in his wake.

Just before Sherlock stepped into the blue box a flash of movement caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and turned to look, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Shaking his head, he was about to continue on his way when he noticed a slip of paper on the ground to his left that he was sure hadn't been there before. Stooping down he picked it up and read it over twice with a startled and confused expression on his face. He looked up from the slip and scanned the room, looking for who could have left it.

"Sherlock are you coming?" John asked, sticking his head out of the TARDIS.

Sherlock quickly wiped all emotion from his face and quietly slipped the piece of paper into his coat pocket. "Yes, I'm coming." He said absent mindedly, the words on the paper echoing in his mind as he stepped into the TARDIS.

"Right then!" The Doctor said exuberantly, "Now that we're all here-"

"Actually, Doctor," John interrupted. "I was hoping you could explain what exactly what happened to me? With the statue and everything."

The Doctor shrugged compliantly and leaned against the whizzing control panel as Sherlock and John took a seat across from him. "First things first, that's not actually a statue. Well, it is when you're looking at it, but as soon as you look away it becomes something else, an alien. They're called the Weeping Angels and they're possibly the most dangerous creatures I've ever encountered."

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Well, in fairness, it's not the most ridiculous thing that's happened to us today." John countered, "I mean, we _are_ sitting inside of a huge bigger-on-the-inside police box that apparently can teleport."

"Actually," the Doctor interjected with a smile, "this police box can go anywhere in time _or_ space."

"So now you're telling me it's a time machine?" Sherlock exasperated with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Well if you want to say it the boring way, yes, it's a time machine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You can't honestly believe this John-"

"As a matter of fact I do Sherlock," John retorted. "Can you just shut up and go along with it for _one_ second and let the Doctor explain?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again but he didn't say another word and lazily motioned for the Doctor to continue.

"Right," the Doctor continued, "Where was I… Oh yes! So John, when you were in that house you were touched by the Angel, correct?"

"Yeah, but then everything went black and I woke up somewhere else and didn't remember anything."

"Exactly. The Weeping Angels touch their victims as soon as they look away and transport them back in time. Where they then die before they are ever technically born. The Angels feed off of the potential energy of the victim and grow stronger. Honestly out of every creature I've seen the Angel's way of killing is by far the kindest, they just pop you back a bit and let you live to death."

"Are you following any of this?" John mumbled over to Sherlock.

"Surprisingly yes," Sherlock said, his fingers steepled and resting under his chin. His sea blue eyes were fixated on the Doctor and his sharp features were etched with attentiveness. The Doctor stared back with an equal amount fascination.

John glanced back and forth between these two completely opposite yet extremely similar men having their silent intellectual battle. He coughed, trying to recapture the attention of the two of them, without success. He felt a tiny flicker of annoyance in the bottom of his gut and he brushed his leg against Sherlock's. That got his attention.

"Right, as you were saying Doctor," John said with slightly more menace than he had intended.

Both Sherlock and the Doctor simultaneously raised their eyebrow at him and he felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at them like that. What had gotten into him?

"So, right, the angels! That particular angel sent you back to eighteenth century London, ironically." The Doctor said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

Sherlock glanced up questionably at the Doctor, "How so?"

The Doctor dismissed his question with a wave of his hand, much to his annoyance. "And you were there for about six months correct?"

John nodded.

"And you would have been there for the rest of your life if I hadn't coincidentally been taking a casual stroll down London myself. Where I promptly noticed that your clothes and attitude were not from this time and brought you back to only mere seconds after you had disappeared, where we saved Sherlock and brought you both back here. Does that clear things up?"

"Immensely," Sherlock said.

John glanced over at him in shock. "Really?"

"Oh yes, I am now completely convinced that this man is a lunatic." Sherlock said venomously. He swiftly got to his feet and began briskly walking toward the doors.

"No Sherlock don't!" The Doctor yelled after him.

Sherlock ignored him. He threw open the doors and stepped out, only to find that there was no ground to support him. He fell forward into the beautiful yet deadly void of space with a yelp and memories of The Fall flashed before his eyes. Except this time he wouldn't get to say goodbye.

"Sherlock!" John screamed and rushed over to the doors, but he was too late. He leaned out of the doorway reaching for a hand that wasn't there. "Sherlock!"


	7. Chapter 7

John stood paralyzed at the edge of the TARDIS, his arm still outstretched. "No, Sherlock…" he whispered breathlessly into the sinister void of space. A single tear leapt from his cheek and fell out of the doorway where it hung suspended, refracting the gleaming whirl of blues and browns of a far off nebula. At any other point John would have been in awe of the magnificent view, but right now all he saw was a deadly swirling vortex.

"Is that…Is that the Orion Neblua?"

The question was hardly a whisper but John heard it as if it was shouted. "Sherlock?!" He called, "Where are you?"

"There's no need to shout John I'm right here." It sounded like the voice was coming from directly above him.

John leaned out the door and looked up only to find Sherlock Holmes clutching to the edge of the TARDIS, staring at the nebula in wonder.

"Sherlock? What the-"

"Did it work? Is Sherlock alright?" The Doctor came running up to John and leaned several feet out the door. "Ah yes there he is! Enjoying the view I see," The Doctor grinned and turned to the dumbstruck and slightly enraged John. "I extended the oxygen field so he could breathe when I saw he was about to walk out," he explained. "This way he can enjoy all the fun of zero gravity without the unfortunate side effect of suffocation. Would you care to go for a spin?"

Before John could do much more than gape at him Sherlock called out from above, "Doctor?"

"Yes, hello. Are you enjoying yourself? You gave John here quite the scare."

"Is that the Orion Nebula?" Sherlock asked again, taking his eyes off the star formation area for the first time.

"Yup, sure is," the Doctor replied exuberantly, "isn't it stunning? I thought you might enjoy it."

"Amazing…" Sherlock whispered, "I believe you Doctor, this really is a spaceship. That or John really did drug me."

"Speaking of John I think it might be best if you came down Sherlock, I do believe he might have a few choice words for you." The Doctor said as he extended his hand out to the detective.

John did have a few choice words for him. And none of them were particularly kind. The Doctor had to pull John back before he nearly pushed Sherlock right back off the edge of the TARDIS and into space.

By the time the Doctor finally managed to calm the two of them down Sherlock had a cut and a bruise forming on his cheek and John had managed to bruise several of his knuckles.

"Right," the Doctor said giving John an ice pack and Sherlock a wet cloth for his face, "now that you two are done bickering I need your help."

Sherlock let out a soft hiss as he pressed the cloth to his bleeding face and shot a venomous glance at John. "Yes I remember you saying something about saving the world or whatever."

"The Angels!" The Doctor said, spinning around and flipping a few switches on the console. The engine whirred to life and let out an unearthly groan. "I'm seriously worried that they've shown up again. They aren't very common any more, an endangered species you could say. Yes, I haven't seen them on Earth since way back in New York…" The Doctor trailed off and a deep sadness emanated from his stooping figure.

"Doctor?" John asked cautiously, "You in there? Saving the world remember?"

"Yes, yes sorry. Where was I? Right. Angels." He cleared his throat and in an instant was as exuberant and excitable as before. "The point is that they were supposed to be gone. Well, not gone, but so few numbered that they wouldn't be a problem. But somehow they showed up again. And from the sound of it there are quite a lot of them. How many people did you say were missing Sherlock?"

"Eleven."

"Couldn't it just be one really strong one or something?" John said, "I mean, you could be worked up over nothing."

"No no that isn't it," the Doctor muttered as he paced back and forth along the console. "Different Angels send you back to different time periods and I only saw two other people in London that looked out of place before I found you, John."

"Was one of them a younger girl, mid-teens with curly blond hair by chance?" Sherlock inquired, "And the second an older woman in her late forties using a wooden cane for a limp in her left leg?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Sherlock questioningly, Sherlock smirked and steepled his fingers under his chin, "I thought so. I just described the missing mother and daughter from the first house we visited. I do hope you returned them to the right time Doctor."

The Doctor shifted his weight and turned to face the console, "Oh yes of course I did…"

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock grinned.

"I'll fix it later I promise!" The Doctor miffed, "Besides, I'm sure they'll enjoy 1923."

John couldn't keep in a small laugh and he shook his head.

"But back to the point! My I get so distracted!" The Doctor continued, "So, if the Angels are so rare and there's so many of them in one place, it can only mean one thing-"

"Someone's bringing them back." Sherlock interrupted, "But who?"

Before any of them could come up with a good answer the TARDIS let out a massive growl and shrieked. The console started sparking and the entire room shook as if in an Earth quake.

"Not good?!" John yelled as the TARDIS took a particularly sharp turn and sent them all flying to the right.

"Bit not good yeah!" The Doctor shouted from across the room as he scrambled to get to his feet before the next blow came. "Someone's hacking into the system! I can't control her!"

Another boom followed by a massive crash sent all three of them flying backwards.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Sherlock bellowed.

"NO!"

"Fine, I'll do it myself." Sherlock crawled over to the console as fast as he could and started examining the various buttons and leavers covering the surface.

"Sherlock, there's nothing you can do!" The Doctor yelled, "I've been flying this thing for over 1,200 years and even I can't fix this!"

Sherlock ignored him and continued working, holding on to the console for dear life as the TARDIS went spinning out of control through the time vortex.

"Ah-ha!" Sherlock cried triumphantly as he flipped two switches and the floor became stable again. "I was able to get the stabilizers back online but I can't stop the TARDIS. However, I _can_ try to see if I can locate who it is that's tossing us around." Sherlock went over to the monitor and began typing furiously.

"You can fly the TARDIS, _my_ TARDIS!" The Doctor said in amazement. "How do you know how to do that?!"

"Oh, it's really not that hard to figure out Doctor. You underestimate me." Sherlock replied, never taking his eyes off the screen.

"Ah here we go if I just press this and…" Sherlock stopped midsentence and stood stock still.

"What? What Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked nervously, rubbing the back of his head. He had hit it pretty good during all the chaos. He walked over to him and looked over his shoulder. "But that-…that can't be! That's impossible!"

A static sound emanated from the screen and the picture was blurry, but there was no mistaking the voice. Neither Sherlock nor John would ever be able to forget it. It was seared into their memories and it haunted their nightmares.

_"Did you miss me?"_


	8. Chapter 8

"So  _that's_ Moriarty?" The Doctor asked for the nth time.

" _Yes_ ," John replied, exasperated. "He's Sherlock's 'nemesis' or whatever you want to call it."

Sherlock had long ago retreated to his mind palace in search for any clue he could have overlooked as to how Moriarty survived, and how he became involved with these Angels. As far as John could tell, he wasn't having much luck. He was still in the same position he was in fifteen minutes ago: leaning up against the railing with his fingers steepled under his chin, his expression becoming more and more frustrated by the second.

"Yes but," the Doctor continued after taking yet another long look at the screen, "that's  _Moriarty_?!"

John threw up his hands and turned away from the Doctor, " _YES_!"

The Doctor continued to stare at the screen in concentration. "He's just so  _young_. He's quite handsome too, villains aren't supposed to be handsome. But I suppose if they weren't, it could be much harder to convince people that you're not lying to their face. A foolish mistake, it happens to me all the time."

"You mean, you automatically trust people who are handsome?"

"Oh, no, I mean most people tend to trust  _me_  because I'm handsome," the Doctor smiled and straightened his bowtie. "Which is quite a silly thing to do really, I mean, you just have to look at the first rule!"

John raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, "What's the first rule?"

"Rule one of traveling with me in the TARDIS: The Doctor lies." He said nonchalantly.

"Right, that's comforting," John mumbled to himself. John leaned against the whizzing control panel and watched as one of the many monitors on the wall showed glimpses of space as they flew past. Right after Moriarty had appeared on the screen, both Sherlock and the Doctor began working furiously to try and regain control of the TARDIS. It had been quite a sight to see, the two of them worked perfectly in sync and they wordlessly formed a silent choreography that sent them spinning and dancing around each other as they flipped levers, pressed buttons, twisted knobs, and typed complex codes that John couldn't even begin to understand. Eventually, after several long minutes, they both stopped when they realized nothing they were doing was making any difference in their course. Sherlock then immediately diverged into his vast mind palace and hadn't returned yet.

"John?"

"Yes?" John turned around to see the Doctor standing next to him.

"I need you to think, really think for just a moment," he said as he invaded John's personal space and gripped his shoulders. "Was there  _anything_ , anything at all, that seemed weird or out of place before you came away with me?"

John squirmed uncomfortably in the Doctor's grip, trying to think back. "No…no I-I don't think so."

"John, I really need to know this it's important. Are you sure?"

John lifted his chin and nodded, "I'm sure."

The Doctor sighed and let go of him. He was about to walk into one of the many hallways that branched off from the center control room when Sherlock spoke up.

"I saw something."

The Doctor rushed back to Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet anxiously, "What?! What was it?"

Sherlock glanced at the Doctor skeptically, unsure if he should tell him anything.

John noticed his glare and spoke up, "tell him Sherlock." He didn't know what it was Sherlock was hiding and John wasn't sure he trusted the Doctor himself, but he was the best chance they had of getting out of this mess alive.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "I saw some kind of movement in our flat just before I climbed into the TARDIS. It was gone before I could make out much more than a blur of grey but I found this." Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "This was on the ground to my left and it wasn't there before I saw movement."

The Doctor took the slip of paper and read it over, astonishment and concern flashed in his eyes but he kept a straight face and gravely handed it back to Sherlock.

"What does it say?" John asked, feeling very the lost in the presence of these two geniuses.

Sherlock silently handed him the note. It said:

_Tick Tock goes the clock,_

_But the soothing sound plays tricks._

_Tick Tock goes the clock,_

_You'll soon see who it picks._

_Tick Tock goes all clocks,_

_And soon you'll know the fear._

_Tick Tock goes your clock,_

_The end is drawing near._

A shudder passed through John as he read it and he handed it back to Sherlock. "Do you think that was meant for you? Is it some kind of warning?"

"I don't know if it's a warning," Sherlock replied, "but I am positive it's for me."

"How can you tell?" The Doctor asked, "It could have been for anyone. Maybe it slipped out of one of your client's pockets or it fell out of the TARDIS. You'd be surprised at how many bizarre little things fall out of her on a regular basis." He said giving the TARDIS's console an affectionate pat.

"It's for me," Sherlock said gravely, "I would know, it's my handwriting."

John stood in shock, "How can it possibly be your handwriting? You didn't write that. Did you?"

"No, I didn't. Or at least I don't ever remember writing it. No, but if this machine really is what you say it is Doctor and it can travel in time, I do believe that this note was from myself to me. In the future I must have gone back to the exact moment I knew I was about to come aboard this ship and given myself this warning or whatever it is. That's the only bit I can't work out. If this really is from me, then why did I write such a vague riddle? I hate riddles, I always have. Why didn't I just write exactly what I wanted to convey?"

The Doctor sighed and rubbed his head. "It's not a riddle."

"What?" Sherlock and John both said in unison.

"It's not a riddle," The Doctor continued, "I've heard that poem before, a long, long time ago. You better hope that wasn't meant for you Sherlock or we could be in much more trouble than I thought."

"What does it mean-" Sherlock was cut off by an enormous crash as the TARDIS came to a grinding stop. The three of them were thrown sideways and the engine shut off with a pop and a plume of smoke.

"Out, out! Everyone out!" The Doctor shouted through his coat as he held it over his nose and mouth. "Don't breathe in the gas!"

Sherlock and John obliged and ran to the door where Sherlock stopped. "We don't know what's out there, it could be anything!" His voice came out muffled and faint from behind his thick coat.

"We'll have to risk it," the Doctor replied as he pushed past them and threw open the door. They tumbled out and landed in a pile on the surprisingly soft ground. The Doctor jumped up, rushed to the TARDIS and closed the doors with a bang.

John had landed face down in the soft grass and Sherlock had followed suit a moment after with a grunt. John just laid there with his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the familiar feeling of the thin blades of grass tickling his cheek and listening to the soft moaning of the wind as the sweet sound of birds chirping filled his ears. After all of the mayhem of the past few hours it felt good to relax. He tried to identify the species by its call and found that it didn't sound like any bird he had heard before, and he had heard them all. Shocked, he opened his eyes and saw the grass rippling in the breeze, the  _red_ grass. John's jaw dropped and he ran his fingers through the blades of grass, marveling at its color.

"Sherlock," John said in wonder, "the grass, did you see the grass?"

There was no reply. John stood up and gazed in awe at his surroundings. He was in a small valley between two rolling hills covered in crimson grass. The TARDIS was wailing behind him but he paid it no heed. At the top of the biggest hill directly in front of him stood Sherlock and the Doctor, two silhouettes against a vibrant orange sky. John began climbing and as soon as he came over the crest of the hill he let out a gasp. Far off in the distance amongst the rolling hills and the scarlet treetops, basked in warm light from the two rising suns, stood a great city confined in a sphere of glass.

"Gallifrey," the Doctor breathed, "My home."


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock heard the crunch of grass behind him as John climbed over the crest of the mighty hill and heard him gasp. Sherlock was just as stunned as he was, but he was much better at hiding it.

"Gallifrey," the Doctor breathed, "my-"

The rest of the sentence was lost to Sherlock as his ears started ringing and the wind was knocked out of him. He grabbed his stomach and doubled over, his mouth gaping open as he tried to force the reluctant air back into his lungs. Slumping to the ground he clutched his throat and tried to fight the overwhelming sense of nausea that had suddenly overcome him. Gallifrey, how did that sound familiar?

"Sherlock!" The Doctor and John exclaimed in unison.

John rushed over to him and tried to see what was wrong. "Sherlock say something what's wrong?!"

Sherlock paid them no attention; he was too preoccupied with trying not to pass out from lack of oxygen. His vision was going black and he desperately tried to take a breath, but however hard he tried he couldn't seem to force the air back into his lungs.

"Sherlock!" John was yelling now, "Sherlock look at me, look at me!" He grabbed Sherlock's head and forced him to look at his face. "Stay with me Sherlock, come on! Fight!"

Frantically John looked for any sign of a wound or any object that could have hurt Sherlock. There was nothing.

"Doctor what's happening?! What's wrong with Sherlock?!" John practically screamed at him.

"I don't know!" The Doctor yelled pulling at his hair in frustration. "I've been saying I don't know far too often today!"

Sherlock's eyes began to close and John slapped his face lightly but firmly, "Come on Sherlock, look at me! You've gotta fight! Don't give up that easy." Sherlock tried to nod and force the air into his lungs.  _Stay strong, for John. For John._

"John!" The Doctor yelled, "There! Over there! What's that?!" He was pointing to Sherlock's left and John turned to look. Sherlock tried again to breathe, without success. Closing his eyes and falling on his side onto the grass, he gasped once more before blacking out entirely. He felt something snap inside of him and an invisible dam broke, the air rushed into his lungs and his eyes snapped open. Coughing and sputtering he tried sitting up, only to be confronted by an overwhelming pain in his head. He let out a groan and put his head in his hands, waiting for the pain to subside. He could feel his pulse pounding through his head, and with every beat it sent piercing pain from his head down his spine.

As soon as the pain had lost its edge he lifted his head up, looking for John. He was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the Doctor or the TARDIS. Sherlock blinked in surprise and looked down into the valley that had the grand glass city cradled inside, but it was in ruin. The glass dome had been broken and smoke was rising from several points around the city in giant clouds. Lights were flashing and there were swarms of what looked like small planes diving down and around the scene. Several of the surrounding forests had been burnt down and a single section was still on fire, flames were leaping from tree to golden tree, devouring everything in its path.

Sherlock's ears popped and he was bombarded with a symphony of overpowering noises. Explosions were going off every few seconds and the chilling sounds of war were clawing at the insides of his ears. Even through the racket he could make out a single musical voice above all the others, it was a little girl's of that much he was sure, and she was screaming for mercy. He covered his ears and grimaced.

"John!?" He yelled as loud as he could, "John! Doctor!?"

Here was no response, or at least none that he could hear over the massive din. The battle that was raging below him, however dangerous, beckoned to him. His curiosity was overcoming his fear and uncertainty. Not having any other idea of what to do, he pulled out his gun and cautiously began working his way down the steep blood red hill.

* * *

John had turned to look at what the Doctor had been pointing at for one second, just  _one_ second. And then he heard a soft pop and suddenly, Sherlock was gone. He had been kneeling right in front of him,  _he had been_   _holding his face_ , but somehow he had simply disappeared. John's jaw dropped and he gaped at his empty hands, "wha-how-" he stuttered.

"John! John!" The Doctor said exuberantly and he jumped up and down, "John I think that's another person! We can get help!" He turned around with a smile and saw John kneeling by himself on the hill. The smile slid off his face and worry along with confusion quickly replaced his joy. "John, where's Sherlock?"

John just looked up at him, speechless. The Doctor's face grew grave and he looked back at the approaching figure. "I think we should go, John. As in,  _now_."

"But-" John stammered as the Doctor tried to pull him to his feet, never taking his eyes off the ominous silhouette. "What about Sherlock?"

"We can worry about Sherlock later, right now we need to  _move_." The Doctor said as he grabbed John's hand and started running down the hill, pulling the reluctant army doctor behind him. They began running parallel to the glass city and away from the figure.

"Why don't we run to the city?" John asked breathlessly as they continued to distance themselves from the domed haven and towards the golden forest. "It would be easier to hide in there, and maybe someone in there has seen Sherlock."

"Yes, it would be easier to hide in there. But if we went in there, there would also be more to hide  _from_." The Doctor responded grimly.

"But I thought you said this was your home? I mean, I suppose I had always just assumed you were human-"

The Doctor interrupted him with a snort and glanced at him, "You actually thought I was human? Do I act anything like any human you've met before?"

"Well, no," John said, taken aback, "I suppose not. But if this  _is_ your home then, aren't the, um… _inhabitants_ , in there your species, or whatever. They could  _help_ us."

The Doctor let out a humorless chuckle and shook his head. "Let's just say they're not overly fond of me."

"Oh, right," John responded, slightly taken aback. "So who-OOF!"

John and the Doctor were about to run into the first clump of trees that lead into the forest when they ran into what felt like a concrete wall. Both of them dropped to the ground, stunned. There was nothing in front of them, it looked as if it would be the easiest thing in the world to step into the shadow of the first few enormous trees in front of them, but when John reached out to where he had felt the resistance, his hand pressed up against a cool impenetrable surface.

"There's a wall! An invisible wall!" John exclaimed, pushing up against the wall with both hands.

"No," the Doctor whispered from behind John, "no no no no, this is not good, not good at all."

"Why? What's wrong Doctor?" John asked with apprehension.

"No NO this isn't right! This is very bad we need to get back to the TARDIS." The Doctor turned to start running back in the direction that they had come but skidded to a stop when the very figure they had running from sauntered over the crest of the hill in front of them.

"Hello boys," Moriarty smirked as he lifted a strange looking gun and pointed it directly at them, "Be good little Doctors and put your arms up above your pretty heads for me, so I don't have to shoot you."


End file.
